


If You Weren't, Deep Down...

by Ghostinthehouse



Series: Demon and Angel Professors [103]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Professors, Disabled Crowley (Good Omens), Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Mentioned Gabriel (Good Omens), Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:55:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25202797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostinthehouse/pseuds/Ghostinthehouse
Summary: They had been home some time when Crowley's phone rang. He stared for a long moment at the phone emoji that marked it as from Administration, and then answered it.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Demon and Angel Professors [103]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1412962
Comments: 55
Kudos: 1021
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	If You Weren't, Deep Down...

They had been home some time - Crowley sprawled carefully across the sofa, Aziraphale soothing himself by making cocoa the slow way, Luc hovering in the background - when Crowley's phone rang. He stared for a long moment at the phone emoji that marked it as from Administration, and then answered it. "What?"

Admin's receptionist sounded as tired as Crowley felt. "I know it's late, but I thought you'd rather hear this in private."

"Go on."

"This is not public information," the man began, "but given the circumstances I have been given permission to inform you..."

Crowley listened to the message, his eyes going wide behind his glasses. At last, he said, "Thanks. I, ah, _we_ owe you one. Usual bottle ok?"

"That would be fine," the receptionist said, and the call ended.

Crowley let his hand drop to the sofa cushions and his head fall back. When he lifted it again, Aziraphale was staring at him over the rim of his cocoa mug.

"You thanked them," he said. "It must be...important."

"It is." Crowley eased himself round so he was sitting nearly upright, gritting his teeth against the spasm in his leg. He swallowed. "Aziraphale," he said, the rare actual use of his name causing his angel to sit up and pay close attention, "this isn't yet public knowledge. We can't mention it outside these walls. That goes for you too, Luc."

Luc nodded and made a zipping motion over eir mouth.

"Right," Crowley said. His fingers drummed awkwardly against his good knee as he wrestled with finding the right words. "Nghk. Yeah. It's... well it's about Gabriel."

His angel flinched, mouth pinched and cheeks pale. He set his mug down on the table. "What about him, dear?"

Crowley's mouth worked soundlessly for another long moment, and then he just blurted it out. "He's been fired. Gone. Fallen so completely out of grace that he didn't even hit the basement on the way down."

Aziraphale's mouth fell open, and his face worked silently, even as the blood drained out of it and he swayed where he sat. "Gone...entirely?" he asked in a tiny voice.

"Y-yeah. It's over, angel. Over for good. We- we don't have to deal with him no more."

Aziraphale blinked quickly and looked away, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I don't think I ever believed..." He crumpled finally under the pressures of the day, burying his face in his hands.

Crowley swore under his breath, and groped for his stick, painfully aware that he couldn't stand without help right now.

Luc got there first, wrapping Aziraphale in eir arms and returning the comfort he had once given em in almost exactly the same situation.

Crowley sagged. "C'mere, angel," he said softly, once the first sobs had eased, and Aziraphale came to him with the sure certainty of a homing pigeon returning to its roost. Crowley drew his angel close on the battered sofa, as the guardian of so many let himself be guarded for once. "None of this," he crooned raspily, his heart so much a disbelieving lump in his throat at the prospect of freedom that he could barely speak, "would have happened if you weren't, deep down where it matters, just a little bit of a brave, stubborn bastard."

Aziraphale slowly lifted his head from Crowley's shoulder. His eyes were still watery, now red-rimmed and puffy from crying, but his mouth curled gently, tenderly, into the sweetest of smiles. "And if you weren't," he responded, and had to stop to fumble a handkerchief out of his pocket and blow his nose. "If you weren't," he began again, tucking a strand of red hair back behind Crowley's ear, "just enough of a good person to give me a place and a home solid enough to stand firm on and anchor my heart within."

Their gazes locked for a long, breathless moment, as Crowley turned blazing red.

Finally, he growled, " _Bastard,_ " and they collapsed against each other, as much laughing as crying.


End file.
